


If He Could Go On Sleeping

by Secretbadass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depressed John, Dreams, Grieving John, M/M, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretbadass/pseuds/Secretbadass
Summary: After Sherlock jumps, the only part of John's life that has any meaning happens in his dreams.





	If He Could Go On Sleeping

John doesn’t sleep.

Well, hardly sleeps. Between the insomnia and the nightmares and the flashbacks and the anxiety attacks, even when he sleeps he gets no rest. And even on those rare occasions when his subconscious grants him a precious hour or two of uninterrupted slumber, he dreads waking up.

Because there is always that half-second of happiness before his brain comes fully online, that fleeting interlude before memory returns and reality kicks in and the recollection of everything that has happened comes flooding back. For that instant, he imagines he is waking up in his old room at 221B, with Sherlock moving about downstairs and another day of work at the surgery or a case with Sherlock or even a lazy Sunday morning to look forward to. Tea and toast and Sherlock. An ordinary day with his mad flatmate. God, what he wouldn’t give to have an ordinary day again. 

But then his eyes blink open and of course the recollection always comes, and with it the sensation of sinking down like a stone through water, inexorably drawn away from the air and the warmth and the light, helpless to stop his descent, dropping down and down until he finally hits bottom somewhere in the murky depths. This, apparently, is what his mind insists must happen before John can begin fighting his way back to the surface. Before he can be allowed to begin his day, go about doing the things that need to be done, kick-start his brain into some sort of working order, even though nothing means anything anymore and he can’t see the point. He has lost his moorings and goes drifting through his life in a world that has been washed of all its colour. All he wants is to go back to sleep.

Because sometimes, when he sleeps, in the depths of the night, long arms come around him and a lanky body coils about his from behind, and he feels his pain and heartache begin to ease for just a little while. An oversized hand settles on his chest, and he presses a kiss to the open palm before clasping the elegant fingers in his own, nestling into the warmth and comfort. _This is what should be_ , his heart whispers. What could have been, what now can never be. In his dreams he can forget, for a time, that Sherlock is gone and this will never be real. Can’t be real. It is rare, but the impossible does happen sometimes, for a short while, in John’s dreams, and this is the only part of his life that holds any meaning anymore. The only part he looks forward to. The only thing that keeps him going, really.

He would be okay, he thinks, if he could just go on sleeping.


End file.
